


Meltdown

by AlineRusu



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Autism, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Autistic Meltdown, Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I do not know how to use footnotes. I apologize., Protective Crowley, Self-Injurious Stims, Sensory Processing Disorder, Stimming, autistic author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlineRusu/pseuds/AlineRusu
Summary: Aziraphale is autistic and has a meltdown.Please be aware that there are some self-injurious stims in here. If that will trigger you, please either don't read it, or skip to the second chapter.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my complete inability to get my shit together recently, and my recent efforts towards unmasking. (Masking = when Autistic/other non-Neurotypical people try to pass as Neurotypical by hiding their stims and other less-typical traits in public.)
> 
> This is based on my own experiences with autism. No one experiences it the same way, but this is how it is for me sometimes when it's all too much. It's been a fucking week, y'all.
> 
> There will be a second chapter involving the two dealing with the repercussions of such a big meltdown, but I don't have the energy right now.

Aziraphale was having a bad day.

Well, strictly speaking, it had actually been a rather good day up until a few moments ago. Rather smashing, even. He and Crowley had stopped off at the bookshop to open for a few hours and check up on things. Even though he preferred not to sell anything, Aziraphale liked the familiarity of the space and the routine of opening, (not) selling his wares, and closing up again. After several hours blissfully spent among his palace of books, they went up to Anathema and Newt’s for their monthly tea.

When Crowley finally pulled the Bentley into their drive at home (he had finally begun to think of their cottage as _home_ ) Aziraphale began to notice that he had been feeling really rather odd for the last hour or so. He took stock.

Fast heartbeat, itchy arms, upset stomach… He felt like he was too small in his skin and it was uncomfortable to say the least. He rubbed his fluffy hair back and forth several times before tugging it once and then clasping his hands tightly in front of him. He’d handle it. He didn’t need all these ridiculous movements and ticks to stay calm.

Crowley glanced at his angel, noticed the clenched knot of fingers, and sighed. The week had been going so well, too.

Ever since they first met, Aziraphale had had odd little tendencies that came out when he was nervous or happy. Things like waving and flapping his hands, repeating words and phrases over and over, rubbing his cheeks and hair, and rocking back and forth. In recent years, one of his most common behaviors was rubbing his velvet waistcoat with his fingertips, resulting in the bespoke piece of clothing looking a little threadbare after around 150 years of constant wear.

Of course, as long as these things had been around, Aziraphale had tried to hide them. It was only now, months after the failed Apocalypse, that Crowley was finally beginning to have some success in convincing Aziraphale that he didn’t need to hide his stims[1] from the world.

[1] Crowley knew what stims were. He knew Aziraphale was autistic and had done ever since the term was first used by Leo Kanner in 1933. He’d kept up to date on all the latest research on the subject, as well as the experiences of autistic people around the world. He knew the words and everything. Even read several books on the subject, much to his chagrin.

Aziraphale was more comfortable, happier, calmer, and any number of other positive adjectives when he let himself, well, be himself. And he’d gotten steadily more positively-adjectived ever since the Apocalypse. The day that Aziraphale had bounced down the stairs of the bookshop waving a book (which hadn’t been in the shop until Crowley had willed it so) joyfully exclaiming that this couldn’t be right, that there couldn’t possibly be a word for his peculiarities, was one of Crowley’s most cherished memories.

All that being said, helping Aziraphale to unmask (and happily stim in public) was a work in progress. Just yesterday, the angel had flapped his hands for an hour while they were out and about without appearing to worry too much about his surroundings but it seemed to the demon that today was a masking day. As much as he wanted to, Crowley didn’t really know how to help on days like this.

He sighed quietly to himself and followed his angel into the house.

Said angel was having a rough go of it, though he pretended to be absolutely fine, thank you very much. There were just so many things vying for his attention and he was exhausted. Sometimes he could be with people for hours and be just fine but today was not one of those days. Aziraphale truly enjoyed being with Anathema and Newt, even when it was exhausting, he just needed some time afterwards to collect himself. Yes, that was all. Just a moment to pull himself together and he’d be fit as a fiddle.

Aziraphale shuddered as he walked past the threshold. The temperature differential between the frigid late-winter air outside and the cozy warmth of the cottage was a lot to take in. It wasn’t unwelcome, just abrupt. It was fine. Everything was fine.

He went immediately to the kitchen. He’d make some tea, settle in his chair by the fireplace, and pull himself together with some Maya Angelou. Her poetry was always so lovely.

Seemingly, Aziraphale had drifted off into his inner world without noticing because all of a sudden the backing-up beeps of a delivery lorry assaulted his ears. His heart raced, his hands shook with the urge to flap, and an unsteady hum forced its way through his lips. He grabbed his hair and _pulled_ as the hum built in volume and urgency.

At that moment, Crowley walked into the kitchen to see what was taking the angel so long. Aziraphale tried as hard as he could to get himself under control; he didn’t want Crowley to see this. The demon was so proud of him lately, he couldn’t do this to him. Instead of getting better, this train of thought merely made everything a thousand times worse. The siren of the lorry was still going on, piercing his skull and driving him towards insanity. He clamped his hands down hard over his ears, screwed his eyes shut, and doubled over, curling in on himself.

Crowley walked into the kitchen to find Aziraphale in a state of complete overwhelm.

“Ohhhh, angel,” he said softly, not wanting to upset Aziraphale more with loud speech. He couldn’t tell yet if this was the sort of meltdown where talking to him would help or hurt. He walked over to where the angel was standing and placed a hand on his shoulder. Immediately, Aziraphale flinched away from the touch and sat down on the ground, knees pulled up to his chest.

“Okay, okay. No touching, got it. Ummmm…” Crowley was a bit at a loss. He hadn’t been around for many moments like this and comforting people was not his strong suit. He looked around the room for inspiration.

_Thump!_

Crowley quickly turned back to Aziraphale to find the angel raising his fisted hand and…

“Shit! Angel! Stop that! Oh shit, fuck, bollocks.” He reached over, preparing to grab Aziraphale’s wrist to prevent him from punching himself again but stopped a few inches away, not wanting to provoke more of a negative reaction. _Fuck_ he didn’t know what to do. After a few more strikes to his jaw, Aziraphale stopped his self-injury (much to Crowley’s relief) and started flapping his hands fast and hard, opening and closing his fists as he did so.

Aziraphale couldn’t tell what was happening. Everything was too much. It was too much. Too much, all too much too much toomuchtoomuchtoomuch _toomuchtoomuch!_

In his mind, the only coherent thoughts he could discern were ‘Stop!’ and ‘No!’ and ‘Help!’ He didn’t know what he needed. He needed nothing. Or was it that he didn’t need anything? Because he was _fine_. Everything was just _fine_.

Something touched his shoulder. His mind shrieked. His body jerked back seemingly on its own. Just as well. The touch was altogether more than he could handle. But no, he was fine. He could handle it!

He fell back on his rump and pulled his knees into his chest, keeping his hands buried in his hair.

 _Ouch!_ Oh… That… That felt right. He reached up to do it again.

_“Shi— -ngel! Stop—— Fuck! ——cks!”_

Somebody was with him. Oh, right, probably Crowley. They did live together after all. Oh, but he didn’t want Crowley to see him like this! ( _Thump!_ ) He needed to pull himself together. ( _Ouch!_ ) What was Crowley saying, anyway? ( _Smack!_ ) Aziraphale’s hands began flapping and waving of their own accord.

Wait, what was _that_? It wasn’t speech. Speech hurt. Other people speaking felt like being shot in the chest with a blunt instrument of some sort. Him speaking right now was simply unfathomable, so what _was_ that?

Someone was humming. Not the horrified, anxiety-ridden hum Aziraphale was making, but a melodic, peaceful sound, weaving its way through the notes of a Bach Prelude. A feat in and of itself, to be sure. Slowly, Aziraphale stopped his own humming in favor of listening to the sounds coming from the other person sitting with him.

The other person was Crowley. Crowley was humming, rocking back and forth in time with the music. Gradually, the angel’s hands slowed their frantic waving and he began to sway along with the demon beside him as Crowley worked his way through the Preludes. Three pieces in, Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath and reached out to place a tentative hand on Crowley’s arm, trying to signal that the demon could stop his humming.

Crowley tensed, then relaxed as he looked at the significantly calmer angel beside him.

“Angel?” he asked.

Aziraphale flinched slightly at the too-loud word. He pointed down.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Course.” The demon lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “You feelin’, ah, you feelin’ all right, then?”

Aziraphale made a side-to-side motion he’d seen some people make to indicate that things were so-so.

“Oh. Okay. Right. Still… still no talking then?”

He shook his head, slightly.

Crowley looked to be at a bit of a loss. He sat next to Aziraphale as the angel continued to rock back and forth. “Er, what do you want, now?”

Aziraphale slowly and awkwardly stood, his knees and hips protesting after so long on the ground. He reached out as though to grab Crowley’s hand, but pulled back, not wanting to touch his skin.

With a wave of a demonic hand, Aziraphale’s silk gloves which he used for book restoration appeared on his hands. He looked over at Crowley, eyes landing somewhere around his chin, and smiled. The angel took the demon’s hand and lead him over to the couch, tugged him down onto it and placed the demon’s arms around his middle.

“You want to cuddle?” asked said demon incredulously.

Aziraphale nodded and laid down, forcing Crowley to come with him. He rolled so that the demon was on top of him, pressing him down, and finally felt able to relax.

Crowley was still at a loss, but he was content to do whatever made his angel happy.

Crowley smiled.

Aziraphale smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo this is finally going up. XD  
> I moved across the country again, and started my last semester of college, so things have been hectic.
> 
> The piece of velvet is inspired by something I did for myself recently. I have this piece of red satin I've had since I was about one that is my favorite thing to rub. My first stim toy, if you will. I am also ADHD on top of being autistic, and have a tendency to lose or forget EVERYTHING, so I don't want to bring the red fabric out and about with me. A couple months ago, I had an idea and bought a small piece of blue silk charmeuse (which feels a lot like well-worn satin), cut it up, and hemmed it to make some smaller ones that I wouldn't mind if I lost, and that were small enough to put in my pocket. (:
> 
> If you have any favorite stim toys or other stims, let me know! I'm super curious about how other people cope with life.

When Crowley blinked awake the sky was pink with the rising sun. He glanced at his mobile. 7:20. That was early, but not too early, considering he’d fallen asleep around 6:00 PM the day before. Speaking of… He glanced down and smiled when he saw the sleeping face of his angel beneath him, still holding on tight to Crowley’s waist.

He didn’t want to wake Aziraphale (these things usually wore him out) but he didn’t think he could extricate himself without disturbing the angel. He resigned himself to a morning spent laying atop his love. Could be worse. Crowley settled against Aziraphale’s chest and dozed.

At around 8:30, Aziraphale opened his eyes to the sun coming in through the open curtains. This was unusual for the angel but not unusual enough to warrant concern. He felt sleepy and rather woozy as he blinked, getting used to the daylight.

The blanket on top of him shifted. Aziraphale looked up at what might have caused it and instead of seeing a blanket, discovered his demon laying on his chest, still half asleep. He smiled sleepily up at Crowley as the demon blinked crusted eyes. Said demon rolled off the couch with a level of grace only possible because of his serpentine nature. With the sudden lack of pressure the events of the night before came flooding back to Aziraphale. His right hand started flapping.

“Mornin’ ‘Ziraphale,” mumbled Crowley as he stood and stretched.

The angel smiled slowly at his partner. Speech didn’t seem to hurt this morning. That was good. He didn’t know how it would feel to talk just yet but maybe that would be okay too.

“Good morning, Crowley.” He took time, carefully shaping each word to as not to slur them together.

The demon looked at him, mildly surprised.

Aziraphale let his lips twitch upward in another small smile. Full-face emoting was still a challenge. “It’s not too bad,” he said with the utmost care.

Crowley nodded and stretched again, joints cracking. “Think you’ll be up for much today?” he asked, obviously taking pains to keep his voice soft.

The Principality shook his head to say no, then kept shaking it. He was starting to get dizzy when Crowley gently laid his hand on Aziraphale’s clothed shoulder.

“Angel. You’ll give yourself a concussion. Here.”

Aziraphale paused in his head-shaking to see a small piece of blue-grey velvet being thrust under his nose. He took it and began rubbing it between his fingers and against his lips, which almost completely eliminated the need to shake his head or flap his hands.

“Oh. That’s… nice.”

Crowley winced at the word but didn’t say anything. “You rub at your waistcoat when you’re… upset.” He grimaced again, not satisfied with his choice of words. “Thought that maybe you’d like a piece of the fabric so you don’t have to wear the old thing out.”

Aziraphale continued rubbing the soft fuzz of the velvet on his cheek. It was truly a remarkable sensation. It wasn’t quite as good as rubbing his waistcoat, though it was definitely more versatile. He could rub it in his pocket or behind his back and no one would know the difference!

Aziraphale looked back up at his demon. Crowley was glancing around, trying not to look uncomfortable. The angel wondered how long he’d been immersed in the sensations brought by the small piece of cloth.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” There was a moderately long pause as Aziraphale collected his words. “I didn’t mean to become so, erm, engrossed, by it.”

“Nk. ’S good then?”

“Yes.” He went back to exploring the velvet with fingers that never stopped moving.

Crowley was pleased that his gift was so well accepted. He wished Aziraphale would allow himself these small things without intervention. He also wished that Aziraphale would pay attention to him. (He was still a demon, after all.) That being said, Crowley knew that today, and maybe the next day, would mostly consist of Aziraphale sitting or wandering around the cottage, and Crowley trying to keep anything from upsetting his angel again.

There had been days like this for nearly as long as Crowley could remember. He hadn’t really seen Aziraphale during a meltdown or shutdown for the first few thousand years. More often, Aziraphale would come to him afterwards, knowing the demon would keep him safe from the world. Of course, Crowley did. How could he not? Now was no different, even though what he wanted really was to wrap Aziraphale up in a hug and not let go for years.

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley saw his angel rise from the sofa and slowly wander towards the kitchen, still keeping the velvet square between his fingers. The demon waved his hand to make sure their electric kettle[1] was out on the counter.

[1] Aziraphale had finally agreed to switch over from a stove top kettle when Crowley told him there were models that didn’t make that awful shrieking sound when the water was boiling.

By the time Aziraphale meandered back into the sitting room with two steaming cups of tea, Crowley had everything set up just right: the sofa cushions were fluffed and placed in such a way that sitting curled up would require minimal effort, the end tables were cleared of all non-essential items to make way for the aforementioned teacups, there was a warm fire burning in the grate[2], and Aziraphale’s favorite safe-reading was stacked on the floor by the sofa.

[2] While fire still made Crowley nervous after the whole Bookshop Fire Debacle, he was getting better at tolerating it in non-bookshop spaces. At the moment though, not even so much as a match was allowed in the bookshop. As it was, Aziraphale found a fire in the hearth relaxing. So, there it was.

The angel set the delicate cups down on the end table nearest the flames and turned to look at the demon who was currently curled up in a tiny ball in an armchair.

“Join me?” he inquired slowly.

How could Crowley say no? He unwound from his ball and padded over to Aziraphale, settling down next to where the angel had deposited himself. He leaned in and gently nuzzled his love’s cheek. Aziraphale hummed in appreciation and sipped his tea.

They sat together like that for upwards of an hour. Crowley didn’t keep track. He knew Aziraphale probably wouldn’t want much to eat, so he didn’t offer. Aziraphale eventually began reading a well-thumbed copy of Homer’s “Odyssey,” occasionally sipping his tea at page turns. He kept the velvet square within reach.

When the angel finally set the book down, Crowley decided he could probably ask Aziraphale a couple questions without upsetting him too much. He didn’t like making his angel think about the things which had upset him, but Crowley wanted to know what had happened so he could try and prevent it in the future, if possible.

“How’re you feeling, angel?” he began.

Aziraphale thought for a moment before answering and Crowley wasn’t sure if it was because words were still difficult for the angel or just because he was having difficulty quantifying his feelings.

“I believe,” Aziraphale began slowly, “that I am improving. Though not as rapidly as I had hoped.”

Crowley nodded. Aziraphale always wanted to be better right away after a meltdown, but that was rarely the case. “ _Silly angel,_ ” thought the demon. “ _You always try and push yourself too hard._ ”

Out loud, Crowley asked “D’you know what triggered the meltdown yesterday?”

Once again, Aziraphale took his time in answering.

“I believe it was a combination of things. I’m so used to things here now that it was slightly overwhelming even going to the bookshop. That on top of seeing our friends was just a bit much for one day, I think.” He set down his tea in favor of the square of velvet, rubbing it against his lips.

The demon nodded and sipped his miraculously still-warm tea. They sat in continued silence, but it was comfortable rather than tense. Crowley was, dare he say it, glad. How lucky he was to have his angel.

Aziraphale leaned into Crowley’s shoulder, hoping to communicate how grateful he was for how the demon had handled this latest meltdown. He was still getting used to the label of “autistic,” but he liked it. Crowley knew what he was doing. And if he didn’t, he sure did a good job of doing it anyway.

The demon in question looked over into Aziraphale’s face, though Aziraphale noted that Crowley purposefully didn’t try to make eye contact. Happy tears welled in his own eyes. How lucky he was to have his demon.


End file.
